


Voices 02 - Voice of Fear

by elixia13



Series: Voice Series [3]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-29
Updated: 2010-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 18:57:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elixia13/pseuds/elixia13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder's reaction to Skinner's dismissal in SR-819.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voices 02 - Voice of Fear

**Author's Note:**

> &lt;&lt;&gt;&gt; is used to indicate unspoken thoughts.

There really wasn't any god-damned thing to do but get drunk. I think  
even Scully might have agreed with me, but I couldn't bear to be with  
her. I would just see her disappointed expression mirroring mine, and  
what good would that do? We'd talk about it, of course, and I'd end  
up crying. As I've said, I hate like hell when I cry; it gives me a  
headache.

I trusted him, absolutely. I practically have "trust no one" tattooed  
on my forehead, but I trusted him with my secrets, my quest and my  
heart. I watched him nearly die before me, and I expected him to  
trust *me* with finding the bastards who did it to him. I sat in that  
meeting, so hopeful, so trusting, and he ripped that trust away from  
me and threw it at my feet.

"I have neither the authority nor the will to allow your continued  
inquiry into this matter. You'll perform your duties as directed by AD  
Kersh and only AD Kersh."

_Um, excuse me? Hellooo? Where did Walter Skinner go, and when can  
we expect him back?_

"This matter's closed, Agents. Am I clear?"

It was very clear, crystal clear, how much of a fool I'd been. Again.

As soon as I could get my feet back under me and get away from Scully,  
I headed to my favorite bar. The bartender there makes the  
screwdrivers with about three drops of orange juice, and that's just  
fine with me. After you get the first one down, your tongue's so numb  
that the rest slide down like water. After a few of those and an hour  
or so of musing over what to say, I caught a cab to Crystal City.  
Walter was going to have to tell me to go to hell without that desk of  
his to hide behind.

^^^

People have told me that I have a tendency to go overboard.  
Personally, I like to think of it as a flair for the dramatic combined  
with a keen ability to express my feelings, when I choose to. In any  
case, I had my "opening scene" at Walter's place all worked out by the  
time the cab dropped me off in front of his building. The alcohol  
hadn't dampened my ability to plan, not in the slightest.

I flashed my badge to get past the front desk because having him buzz  
me up was not part of the plan. I rode the elevator up, knocked on  
his door, and then came my cue. The door opened, and Walter stepped  
onto my stage.

He answered the door in his boxers and oxford shirt, the shirt  
unbuttoned to show the t-shirt underneath, the sleeves undone and  
loose around his wrists. The boxers were a plain striped pattern, the  
socks on his feet, grey. He looked tired, too, and I wondered for a  
moment if he was completely recovered. Then I remembered the meeting  
and my concern for him was pushed away. I shoved past him into the  
apartment and stared hard at him while he closed the door.

"Come on in, Mulder, make yourself at home," he growled sarcastically.

"What the hell did you mean in that meeting this afternoon?" I wanted  
to ask him first, to give him a chance before I laid into him. I  
figured maybe he had reasons--good ones.

Walter sighed, but he stood his ground. "I meant exactly what I said,  
Mulder. The case is over. I'm fine. You don't even work for me  
anymore."

_Meaning what_, I thought. _Meaning I don't even belong in your  
life at all anymore? Yeah, thanks._

He continued, "I suggest you take a cab home and sleep it off, Mulder.  
I'm sure Kersh will have plenty of work for you. I think you also  
know that the Bureau would prefer I no longer be in contact with you  
and Agent Scully, so you might want to keep that in mind."

It was then that I snapped. I'd come prepared to make a scene, and  
make a scene I would. I wasn't quite yelling yet at that point, but I  
think my lack of restraint was showing. "I'll keep that in mind,  
Walter. I'll keep that in mind the next time I have to watch you die.  
The next time I have to watch Scully agonize over it. The next time  
you're in pain because of what *they* did to you."

"Mulder--," he tried to stop me, but I was on a roll.

I picked up a delicate vase from his end table. "See this?" I  
smashed it to the floor. "This is me if you die." I grabbed a  
crystal candy dish from his coffee table and threw it against the  
wall, where it cracked in two. "This is Scully if she has to watch  
you lie in pain despite her best efforts." I back-handed the nearest  
lamp, burning out the light bulb. "And this is the Bureau without  
you. Darker. Broken. Pointless." I stood there in the middle of  
the wreckage I'd created, shaking a little, trying to get my breath  
back.

I finally risked a glance at Walter, and he was standing there with  
his jaw open so wide he must have been collecting flies. After a few  
practice runs of opening and closing his mouth, he finally spoke to  
me. "Christ, Mulder, do you think I want to die? Do you think I want  
to go through that again? Not everything is about you, you know, and  
I do not need you to be my white knight."

My lines as I'd planned them were finished, so it took me a moment to  
come up with something else to say. Walter motioned me to sit on the  
couch, and he took the chair opposite. "Do you remember what you said  
when you were in the hospital, Walter? You said that it wasn't that  
you didn't love me, but that I didn't love myself.

"Well, you know, I try. I try, but it's really god damned hard  
sometimes. I need to help people, to save them, but every time I try  
I fuck up and end up hurting someone in the process. I tried to save  
Scully; I got her that chip, but then that chip almost got her killed.  
Not to mention that to get that chip I had to pretend to be a dead  
man, a man I'd killed. I had to betray you, and I love you, but  
Scully was dying. This is the story of my life.

"So I know that I've earned it. I've earned your betrayal, and I  
suppose I deserve it But you don't deserve to die, and I think I can  
save you. You have to let me try. For your sake and mine." I stared  
hard at him, then, pleading with him to change his mind.

He dropped his gaze and ran a weary hand over his face. I felt a  
twinge in my gut but held still. "This is more complicated than you  
know, Mulder. What you said is true, that all of this affects you and  
Scully, and I think I understand that better than anyone. Do you know  
all the nights I've wondered if you two were dead or alive? When you  
run off on one of your missions, do you think of what it might do to  
me?" His voice was soft, but I felt the sting in it nonetheless.  
"And Mulder, your value as a person or as an agent is not based on  
your ability to save other people. We'd be content if you could  
simply save yourself, and I really don't mean that as an insult."

Well, there he was in front of me, very sweetly tearing me to bits. I  
just sat there with what I'm sure was a stupid look on my face.  
Skinner sat up straight in his chair and looked around. "Mulder, I'm  
going to go put on some pants. You look like you could use some  
coffee and food, and I, uh, haven't got anything here. There's a  
place down the street. Wait here for a moment."

I gave him a nod, perplexed, and he walked into his bedroom and shut  
the door. I just sort of floated, tired, confused and semi-drunk,  
cushioned by the couch. Before I could get very far, Walter's door  
opened, and he walked out looking quite stunning. Dark black jeans, a  
little bit tight in all the right places. An off-white sweater that  
hugged the impressive muscles of his chest. Black boots.

He grabbed a black leather bomber jacket from his closet and put it  
on before offering me a hand up from my spot on the couch. As he  
pulled me up, I felt so languid; I just wanted to pull him down on top  
of me and slide those marvelous clothes off his body. But I didn't.  
I dropped his hand and followed him out the door and down to the  
garage.

^^^

In the cold air of his car, I finally got my senses back and tried to  
ask him some questions--

"What's the point of this, W--," but he cut me off.

"Mulder, do you think you could possibly be quiet for five minutes? I  
don't know if it's ever happened before, but I hear you believe in  
extreme possibilities."

Taking the hint and the dare, as it was, I resolved to keep my mouth  
shut for the remainder of the drive. I didn't have much trouble, as  
we soon pulled into the parking lot of The Crystal City Diner--Open 24  
Hours. I thought it sounded like my kind of place, and I was right.  
A middle aged waitress sat us in a booth as soon as we got inside. I  
ordered a grilled cheese and an iced tea. Walter ordered a coffee and  
a slice of apple pie.

I decided it was time to stop acting like a good boy. "So, Walter,  
may I speak now?"

He looked at me sharply. "I think it should be safe here. Honestly,  
Mulder, you have no idea what's going on. I have reason to believe my  
apartment, and maybe even my car, may be bugged. If they hear me  
telling you anything, then I *am* dead. Do you understand?"

Frankly, I didn't. "Who do think is monitoring you? The Bureau? If  
it's them, we're sunk already from what they did hear. The  
Consortium? If you're working with them, you'd hardly be telling me  
this. If you're not, what do you have to tell me that I can't hear?  
I've come with you, and I've kept my mouth shut. Now I want to know  
what the fuck is going on."

Walter looked down at the table and then back at me. His eyes were  
resigned, but guarded as well. "The party I'm dealing with here is  
neither the Bureau nor the group you call the Consortium, though I  
believe there may be connections to both. This man has contacted me  
since my release from the hospital and made it clear that he was  
responsible both for my illness and my sudden recovery. He also made  
it clear that he has the ability to reverse that recovery. Do you  
understand now? This man holds my life, quite literally, in his  
hands."

I was floored, but he continued.

"However, I have no reason to suspect that he will harm me again if I  
go along with his program. I'm useless to him dead, so killing me  
would put him at a great disadvantage. He also made it clear that he  
already was aware of our involvement and that he didn't care. I think  
he found it 'cute',honestly, so I wouldn't worry about *that* if I  
were you. What you need to do is pretend that everything is normal,  
that I have told you *nothing*. Above all, you need to *not* dig into  
this matter. What you might uncover, if you did dig, would be  
explosive and deadly--probably to us both. I don't think you want to  
do that to yourself. Or Scully."

It was all too much at once. I find that the recurring pattern of my  
life is that information is withheld from me when I desperately want  
it. Then, the information is revealed to me in a great torrent,  
making it nearly impossible for me to comprehend it all. I think I  
need to start carrying around one of those mini tape recorders just  
for moments like these. Then I can go back and listen to the facts  
confessed in great detail.

This time there was one thing, one piece of information, I especially  
wanted from Walter. "Who is this man, Walter? Do you know him? Give  
me his name, and I'll see what the Gunmen know--"

"No, Mulder, that is *exactly* what you must not do. You must not  
question me. You must not search for this man's identity. You're an  
excellent investigator, so you would be likely to find it. But if you  
do, we die."

"I thought you said this man wanted you alive?"

"There are other factions involved in this. They are not, at this  
time, aware of my involvement. Your investigation would surely make  
them aware, thereby ending my usefulness."

Agreeing to not investigate something like that went so far against my  
nature that I found it almost impossible to agree, even with Walter's  
explanation. I needed space to think. "I need a minute, Walter. I'm  
going to the men's room." Plus, with all those screwdrivers and the  
iced tea, well...

^^^

It didn't take me very long to make my decision. Once all the facts  
aligned in my vodka-slowed brain, I realized that I didn't have any  
realistic choice. I returned to the table, to Walter, with my answer.

"I don't think I have much of a choice but to trust you on this. I  
investigate; you die. I leave it alone; you believe that you'll live.  
It's a piss-poor choice, but I could never forgive myself if I went  
against your wishes and something happened to you."

He looked terribly relieved. "Thank you, Mulder, I know that's a  
difficult choice for you. Look at it this way: planting this bomb in  
my body is a means of insuring my cooperation, solidifying my  
interests. Given the choice, I would rather have signed over my  
Bureau pension to them, but this is the way they do things."

Walter took off his glasses then, tilted his head down and rubbed the  
bridge of his nose, reminding me he was only two weeks out of the  
hospital. And I was keeping him up late, dealing with my demands.  
"How *are* you feeling? Scully said you were fully recovered, but are  
there any after-effects?"

He cut me off with a wave of his hand. "I'm fine Mulder. I didn't  
like you nannying me when I was sick, and I won't tolerate it now that  
I'm well."

I can't exactly explain why, but that hurt me, hit me like a fist to  
the gut, and my eyes suddenly filled with tears. It made me say  
something stupid, something pitiful and weak. "Well, excuse me.  
Excuse me for loving you. I see you couldn't possibly need *me*, so  
I'll leave. Trust me, I'll honor our agreement."

I left a five on the table and walked out of the diner, past the odd  
look the waitress gave me, out into the cold night. Then, I realized  
that Walter had driven. I figured, fuck it, I'll walk back to one of  
the hotels and call a cab from there. So I stalked off down the road,  
trying to keep my eyes from watering in the cold. I've done the  
occasional stupid thing, but this whole night had to be at the top of  
the list.

I hadn't gotten past the first major intersection when a car slowed  
down next to me. I figured it was either Walter or a bunch of  
rednecks looking to gang bang me. I almost wish it had been the  
rednecks, because at least I might have been able to get rid of them  
with my gun.

"Mulder," he shouted out the car window, "Get in the god damned car  
already, before I have to wrestle you in, and I think we both know who  
would win that fight." I didn't stop. "Mulder, please, I'm sorry!"

I stopped. I don't think I'd ever heard Walter apologize before, not  
for something personal like that. He brought the car to a halt, and I  
got in silently. I looked at him blankly because I didn't know what  
was supposed to come next.

"Would it be alright if I drove us to your place so we can talk? That  
way you won't have to get a cab home. Plus, it might be...safer."

I nodded, said something like, "Yeah, sure," and he drove on to  
Alexandria.

^^^

We finally arrived at Hegal Place after a rather uncomfortable trip.  
Walter followed me up the stairs to the fourth floor, never even  
asking why I eschewed the elevator. I guess he knew I wanted some  
more time to figure out what the hell was going to happen once we got  
alone inside. When we reached the fourth floor landing, he stopped  
and touched my shoulder.

"Mulder? Your apartment, is it safe?"

"Yeah, I have the Gunmen sweep the place for bugs periodically, and  
Frohike was just over last week. I think they've been leaving me  
alone since, well--"

He knew what it was since. Since the big ugly centerpiece came to be  
sitting between us on the table. He nodded, and we headed through the  
thick metal door to the hallway. I fumbled with the lock, and then we  
were inside. I keep my apartment in continual disarray, and I like it  
that way, but I never fail to be embarrassed when I bring someone  
over. I hastily swept a pile of papers from my chair so we wouldn't  
have to share my couch. I didn't want to put that kind of pressure on  
him.

"Do you want anything to drink?" Never let it be said that I'm an  
inconsiderate host.

He shook his head and stood in my living room looking out the window.  
He removed his jacket and tossed it on my chair. He stood there with  
his hands on his hips, his wrists pushing up the bottom of his cable  
knit sweater, his jeans hugging his powerful thighs.

I lost my breath for a moment, realizing again how magnificent he was.  
How he would be mine if I hadn't lost him. I sat down on my couch and  
pulled my tie completely off, laying it and my jacket on the floor. A  
horn blared outside, but he didn't turn away from the window.

"I didn't think I could forgive you, Mulder. I really didn't. For  
letting me think you were dead, for putting me through that."

His voice was calm, but my chest seized up nonetheless. I knew I  
could never apologize enough for that, never make up for one bad  
judgement made on one terrible day. I thought he was tormenting me,  
punishing me. As though I hadn't punished myself enough. Drowning  
myself in my silent chant of _yourfaultyourfaultyourfaultyourfault_,  
I almost missed his next words.

"But I have, Mulder. I might well be crazy, and if I am I'm sure I  
caught it from you. But I've been thinking to myself the past few  
months, 'Walter, you could do worse. You could do worse than a man  
like Mulder. He may be a pain in the ass, but his love is worth the  
pain. And maybe with you looking out for him you won't have so many  
sleepless nights.' And now it seems like I need you looking out for  
me, so we must be meant-- We must be tied together in some sort of  
inexplicable way, and I don't know what to do about it."

He sat down next to me on the couch then, facing out towards the room  
as though he were talking to himself and not me. Finally, he turned  
his head towards me, an open look on his tired, handsome face. "What  
do you think I should do about it?"

I stretched a hand up to touch his cheek, and then we were kissing. I  
pulled up onto my knees on the couch, thankful for the slipperiness of  
leather. I held his face with both hands and gently covered his mouth  
with mine, turning my head to the side to connect more tightly. My  
hands slipped around to the back of his head, and I reached out with  
my tongue, meeting his, slipping over and under.

I felt his hands in my hair, and it was like a miracle. His warmth  
coursed through me, and I realized then that I'd been cold for a year,  
cold like that night in the Florida wilderness when I'd longed for his  
strong arms around me. Cold like the searing nothingness of  
Antarctica or the deep blackness of the Atlantic. Cold like the butt  
of a gun, like facing death on a wind-swept field. Cold like secrets  
frozen away, and his absence. Then I was melting under his touch.

Briefly coming up for air, we gazed into each other's eyes, and he  
smiled. I hadn't seen him smile in so long, and the rare gift was  
exhilarating. Our lips met again, and my hands smoothed down the back  
of his head to his broad, incredible shoulders, his thick, muscular  
arms. I worked my way down to his hips and began pulling his sweater  
up. I heard a small chuckle deep within his throat, and then he  
pulled away from me.

I lifted the sweater up over his head to reveal his chest, that work  
of art, even near fifty. A few strands of silver in with the brown  
didn't mar it at all, even if he had gained a few more since I'd seen  
him last. I'd aged too, God knows. While I busied myself with  
warming every inch of that chest with my hands, he unbuttoned my  
shirt, pulling it off me quickly.

I set to running my tongue around his nipples, hardening them, tugging  
them into my mouth and sucking tightly. I think we had a silent  
agreement to not rush things, to re-acquaint ourselves with each  
other. God, I wanted to remember every bit of him, in case he should  
go away from me again. I wanted to show him how much I loved him, how  
much I needed him.

He tried to budge me from my ministrations, but I reached up and  
kissed him again. "This is for you," I whispered in his ear. "This  
is how much I've missed you." I bit down gently on his earlobe, and  
he gasped, his cock hardening beneath me, straining against his jeans.  
I pushed him backwards, down onto the couch, and began undoing his  
pants.

I popped the button and undid the zipper hastily before tugging the  
dark denim down over his slim hips. He lifted his ass to make it  
easier, and the bulge in his boxers was suddenly in my face. I  
struggled with his boots, his socks, and then I yanked his jeans and  
boxers down, peeling them off together and discarding them in a  
twisted heap.

There it was, then. Hard and beautiful, reaching towards me. I ran my  
hands over the soft, paler skin of his hips and moved my mouth down  
over his sex. I dove down deeply, God!, letting it fill me, and then  
pulled back, running my tongue over the ridge, the tip, caressing it  
with my lips.

Walter moaned, then, and I loved him so much. I looked up, and his  
eyes were dark and soft. Returning to my task, I moved my hands to  
gently cup his balls, took his shaft into my mouth and sucked.

I think he understood how much I needed to do this for him. He just  
lay there on the couch, twining his hands through my hair, his moans  
rising in pitch and frequency. I felt him growing inside my mouth,  
and then his hips starting thrusting, just slightly, not enough to  
choke me. But I knew he was close. I moved one hand to the base of  
his shaft, pumping up and down, pulling my mouth away a bit so I could  
suck on the head. His moans strung together into one single note, he  
thrust once more and then he came. I swallowed quickly, licking up  
the last drops, and buried my head in his lap for a moment.

As his breathing returned to normal, I began kissing my way back up  
his body. The thick patch of hair, his flat, powerful stomach, his  
impressive chest, the sweet hollowness of his throat, the sharp  
stubble on his chin, and then his mouth. I kissed him on the corner  
of the mouth and then met his eyes.

If I thought his smile earlier was amazing, it was only because I  
hadn't seen the real thing for so long. The smile he gave me then,  
lying spent on his back on my couch, was like a ray of sunlight  
breaking through the clouds after months and months of rain. But his  
eyes were struggling to stay open, and I knew that day and the past  
few weeks were catching up with him. I smoothed one hand over his  
sweaty head and gently kissed one eyelid, then the other.

"Sleep, lover," I whispered, and he drifted off. I stood up and  
covered him with a blanket so he wouldn't get cold. Still in my  
suit-pants and shoes, I stripped and walked to the bathroom. In the  
warm spray of the shower, I let the sweat and the vodka and the fear  
wash off of me. I let the water pour down over me, blessing me, until  
it turned cold. Dressed in my favorite grey sweats and an old black  
t-shirt, I walked out to the kitchen for some iced tea.

^^^^^^

I'm looking out into the living room now, and there he is on the  
couch. Walter. My Walter, once again. I have no idea about forever,  
and I know I don't even dare think about it. I don't honestly think  
there is a "forever" in my world. There's a bomb inside of him, and I  
can only trust and hope that it will never go off.

Of course, there's always been a bomb inside of me, and it goes off  
again and again. I look back over my life, and I see this trail of  
bodies and broken lives. I know it's not all my fault, but I'm still  
the common factor, the Typhoid Mary.

And then I look in front of me, and there's this beautiful sight. One  
body, one life, whole and intact and miraculously open to me again. I  
take a few silent steps closer, and I can see the steady rise and fall  
of his chest. With his face relaxed in sleep, I can see just how  
stressed he's been lately. I don't want to wake him; he needs his  
sleep, but I want to be with him, feel his warmth join with mine. So  
I lift up the blanket and sit on the edge of the couch. I slowly  
slide down, turning onto my side, and he angles himself sideways,  
unconsciously moving to admit me.

I work my arms around his thick chest and intertwine my legs with his.  
I kiss him lightly on the cheek, and a tiny smile moves across his  
face. Finally, resting my head in the hollow of his shoulder, I  
sleep.


End file.
